Perseverance
by LifetimePasserby
Summary: One is on a quest for truth in a world that only lies, One must determine if different paths can lead to the same destiny, and one must mask the truth in order to preserve a preordained future. All must persevere.
1. When a Problem Comes Along

"MHHHHHHHAGH!"

He had promised, had swore to himself that he wouldn't do this. Pledged he wouldn't give that bastard the satisfaction. That had been 20 lashes ago, and the pain, heavens the pain was insurmountable. At least they had gagged him. He didn't know if he possessed the strength of character not to plead for clemency. Never had he thought he'd long for the stocks. He'd even supply the potatoes if it could free him from his present hell. The searing pain and putrid stench of sweat, rust, and salt turned his stomach. How much longer would…

Relief. Sweet reprieve. It must have been over. He was finally free. At long last he could breathe…

"Why did you stop? I said 50 lashes, and this pathetic whelp has only felt 37. Finish it."

With a wry chuckle, or at least what could pass for a chuckle with the hard leather pressed against his teeth, he acknowledged the ugly truth. The torment would never be over, not with Uther on the throne. A deluded king drunk on power and blood lust determined to make his son the same. How easy it would be to snap his neck. How simple to slow down his heart long enough for the country to mourn his loss and bury him alive. How righteous it would be to blister him from the inside out until only the charred remnants of a soulless body remained. No one would even know that a doddering manservant and not some deranged enemy of the state had overthrown the corrupt monarch. And Arthur would be free of the lies…

"Look at his back! He can't recover from this. He's learned his lesson."

_Arthur_, he thought. There was the rub. He couldn't kill Uther, because Arthur wasn't ready. He didn't know the truth-actually Merlin had shielded him from the truth though he was beginning to regret that now-and still idealized his father. If Uther were to die of magic, Arthur would never fulfill his destiny. Arthur needed to love all the people of Camelot, learn that he was their servant in every way they were his, and read a book or two before he could ever unite Albion. Instinctively, Merlin knew that this suffering would bring about some revelation of truth. He just prayed that it was about Uther and not the magic bubbling beneath the surface of his skin, yearning to protect him from this physical threat. The irony was overwhelming.

Uther said he was borderline seditious; Arthur said he was brainless. But both of those were falsehoods. To be whipped for calling Arthur a prat superseded comprehension. Liar, Murderer, Sorcerer, Betrayer. Those were crimes, of which he was guilty, for which he deserved punishment. His perfunctory sins should have sent him here. His deliberate ones, those in secret, those in the dark stillness of night should have sent him to hell. Yet, to be whipped for calling Arthur a prat was beyond comprehension. Was insubordination even possible when you ranked above your master?

"Arthur, I am King of Camelot, not you. You do not make decisions about the punishments of inept servants. Obviously, the stocks do nothing for his behavior. Perhaps he will learn from this. Since you're obviously too weak for the task at hand, Sir Caradoc here shall take over. You will leave and return to your duties."

Emrys, the Old Religion named him; a name of power, position, and wisdom. But how wise could he be? Surely, allowing that blasted torture to continue made him the idiot that Arthur always said he was. It was only after the brief shuffling of feet, the loud thud of the dungeon door, and silence that Merlin realized he had been lost in his own interior monologue. Merely, Uther's muffled commands remained.

"Sir Carodoc,…Gaius…finished….."

So slowly that he began to fear he had accidentally delayed the proceedings with his magic, he heard the horrifying whistle of the cat' o nine tails.

"One."

**APOV**

He had never felt so weak. He slipped down the cold stone wall of the alcove, his journey to his chambers forgotten. What was left of his dinner lay in a concealed mess by his side acerbically assaulting his senses. Helplessness. That was the only word capable of identifying this feeling. It bubbled over him as a black sticky film leaving him in total darkness. The warrior inside of him raged against the eternal night , desperately searching for the enemy who's destruction might end this torment. There was always a plan, always some valiant gesture that would right the wrongs of wicked men. Only this time, there wasn't.

Perhaps that was the real issue. There was no monster to kill, no sorcerer to vanquish, no rival to thwart. There was only what was and what had been. There was no enemy here only injustice, and no way to correct it.

His father was wrong, not misguided, and decidedly not acting for the greater good. He had known that his father was a harsh man, but Arthur has always sought to please his paternal guardian. Desired his approval. Only now did the young prince see how such an accommodating spirit could corrupt his already fragile soul. He was disappointed, disillusioned, and refused to blindly follow any man again. He would submit to his father's will, but he would never forget.

Merlin embodied innocence. With his dopey smile, guileless eyes, and life-endangering integrity, Merlin was the very best of humanity. Even a Unicorn could recognize that. And his father had him flogged. _To death_ the small scared voice in the back of his head screamed. He wasn't trying to be difficult when he had stopped. He could see the gut wrenching white of Merlin's ribs as his flesh flopped open like a skinned beast of the forest. How could he continue? Yet, his father sought to punish the boy more to teach Arthur a lesson. Merlin was not in trouble for disrespect. Arthur was in disfavor for allowing it.

The shocking truth of it all was that Arthur enjoyed Merlin's quips. The other servants quivered in fear and bowed in nervousness. Merlin would call him a clotpole to his face, but admittedly, only when Arthur was behaving as such. Sure Merlin complained and antagonized him, but he also complimented Arthur when he saw fit. However, because Arthur had to earn that respect, it made it all the more precious. Merlin was a good man, but more importantly, a loyal friend. His father would scoff at the concept of a peasant befriending nobility, but Merlin never acknowledged any importance of rank distinction. And over time, neither did Arthur.

He was not his father and for once, he did not desire to be.

**

* * *

****Author's Note**: I do not own Merlin, it is property of BBC. I only own this crappy laptop and an original Mighty Morphin' Power Rangers Poster.

This is my first foray into the world of fanfiction so I would ask that you review and tell me the truth. I am currently looking for a beta, and if you would be interested in betaing my story...Bradley will get invisalign. Not really, but a girl can hope. So, please click that small button at the bottom of the page.

In addition, if anyone can name the quote from another BBC original in this piece you'll get a shout out next chapter, virtual cookies, and mad props.


	2. You think I'd lay down and die?

AN: Wow! I deeply appreciate the reviews. So, here's the deal, as long as you people (yes I'm talking to you Mr. Story Alert without a review) can prove to me that I'm not wasting my time I'll continue to review. Work is hectic right now-Our CEO was voted out and one of our VPs resigned and is trying to take all of his clients with him, so now I'm doing his job, still helping with the infrastructure, and taking an online class with a lab-and my updates will probably be irregular for a while. I'm hoping to train a new VP before Fall, but I'll probably still be needed for support and reference for a time.

You know the drill, I do not own Merlin, it is property of BBC. I only own this crappy laptop and an original Mighty Morphin' Power Rangers Poster.

The answer to last week's question was Doctor Who. The "Very best of humanity" line came from Matt Smith in and episode from this last season.

For clarification, _Italics_ is the running commentary in Merlin's head, "quotations" are actual conversations.

Shout out to Ozlex who is the greatest Beta ever and somehow manages to take my incomprehensible junk and turn it into something of value.

On with the main attraction…

* * *

Chapter 2 (Spoilers for S1 and S2)

"_You think I'd lay down and die?_"

MPOV

The lashings had ceased but Merlin had lost all grips on reality. His world was filled with nothing but pain. As the knights carried him to Gaius, every small jostle instigated by a set of stairs or turn in the corridors sent new waves of agony throughout the sorcerer's mutilated frame. Unconsciousness held no relief from the unending misery. Each time he regained some semblance of clarity, he wrestled against the oncoming darkness for with oblivion came the memories of the whip in Arthur's possession. It was a constant reminder that Arthur's strong noble hands had done this to him. One side of the coin had been melted with the fires of hell and left unrecognizable. The other side remained pristine, but still endured the heat.

Merlin opened his eyes and saw Gaius more distraught than he had ever thought possible. His face revealed distress exceeding the times he faced the threat of Sigan, the accusations of Aredian, or the debt left by that fateful Questing Beast bite. The warlock wanted to reassure his mentor of the trust and love he placed in the old man, unfortunately exhaustion overtook him before he could utter a word.

.

"…closest thing to a son…" _Liar_

. .

"…knew you were special…" _Murderer_

…

"…rare it is to have that much power from birth…" _Sorcerer _

_. . . ._

"…never seen him that close to anybody much less his servant…" _Betrayer_

Merlin didn't know how much time he had spent in delirium, but judging from the whiskers on Gaius's chin, it had been a while. Gaius looked more corpse than man and Merlin wondered if his father figure might need a physician of his own. It was as if his mentor was on the verge of collapse and Merlin doubted if the man had slept at all.

Then the pain finally began to ebb. It still pulsated along his nerves ready to explode, but occasionally Merlin could _think_. The warlock could not determine if such an achievement was for the better.

There was a soothing coolness at his brow and rough, calloused hands gently placing what he assumed to be a damp cloth there. He could just barely see retreating skin the color of tree bark before his eyes failed him. _Gwen_. Merlin had never known sunshine could burst out of someone's eyes until he met her. How perfectly did she counteract the fire which engulfed Morgana's very soul! Morgana, whom he potentially murdered, and whom he undeniably betrayed. She had gone to Morgause believing the sorceress to be her only kindred because she felt so alone and scared when she had no need. He had lied to her. He had made her the very thing of which the dragon—"Kilgarrah" his father's voice reminded him- had warned him she would become. And what of his father? How would Balinor feel of his son's support of the tyrant who turned father into the hermit and son into mincemeat? After all, that is what Merlin did every time he saved Uther's life; what he did every day he let the madman live. Was it really for Arthur that he ignored Uther's psychosis? _Betrayer_.

Destiny was rubbish, Merlin decided. The future was of his own making. However, the future he was constructing was not what he once envisioned. He didn't know who he was anymore, much less what he was supposed to do. No longer was he the village outcast, never persecuted but always avoided. Now he had many friends, but none who knew him truly. He was no longer the clueless child with a head full of dreams and a heart full of hopeless romanticism. Life grew hard, and Merlin had to harden himself against the world in order to survive. A smile and a stumble could only make him appear endearing and guileless. Yet truth was circumspect. Slowly, Camelot had siphoned Merlin's innocence since the moment he stepped foot inside the castle walls and the last of his reserves had been lashed from his back.

"…worthless idiot…"

_Arthur_. The prince's voice interrupted his introspection. Merlin opened his eyes to discover why his master had come.

"…so much more to do, you and I. Have you seen the state of my armor? It's absolutely ridiculous. My swords are duller than even you usually leave them and the townspeople have no one to throw their rotten vegetables at…"

None of the false bravado in the kingdom could cover up the occasional hitch in the prince's breath. Merlin always knew what Arthur could not bring himself to recognize. Always knew what the prince's now cracking façade proved beyond a doubt…

"MERLIN!"

Merlin's eyes shot open at the distress in the Prince's voice. Though he couldn't move, he quickly looked over Arthur for any sign of injury. Nope, he was intact with all limbs accounted for.

"Don't do that okay, don't just… I mean you were so still Merlin. I've seen men on the battlefield with more color after they've…"

Oh! Arthur was concerned for Merlin, how ironic. After all the times the Prince had recklessly endangered his own life and shattered all of the warlock's nerves he couldn't handle Merlin taking a little nap. It wasn't as if he was in serious danger. Gaius had given him something that lessened the pain to a dull throb.

"…don't care that you're just a servant. Well, you're not just a servant are you? You've faced a dragon and countless other magical beasts even though you've had no training. You're more loyal than most knights are and I wouldn't blame you if you hated me… but please don't. I couldn't take it if you hate me."

Merlin wished he could reassure Arthur that he didn't, nay couldn't hate the man that stood before him. Only his lips felt like two stones and his tongue a drought stricken field. Instead, he concentrated on communicating his absolute faith and trust through his eyes.

"Truth is you're the only real friend I've ever had. You're not a bootlicker and you tell me the truth even if it means being pelted with cabbage or …well yeah…"

Both Prince and manservant remembered the other punishments that Merlin had incurred for his truthful tongue. Then, almost as if to divert their thoughts from such a dark path, Arthur began again.

"And for an idiot, you just know what to say or do…you know… it's just, you can't not be here. You're irreplaceable. Just, stay."

Merlin lay taken aback at his master's candidness. Immediately he noticed the consequences of Arthur's fear in his master's physical countenance. His once wheat gold hair lay limply around his forehead soaked in swat and caked in dirt. Dark blemishes above his cheeks only served to highlight his bloodshot eyes and sunken face. His skin was pallid and sickly and it was obvious that the prince was deeply troubled. Merlin knew that he needed to reassure his friend. Magic thrummed beneath his skin, filling his veins with the white-hot gold feeling of false energy. He channeled all the supernatural strength within him into his unused vocal chords. The resulting sound was merely a raspy rattle of his chest that did more to startle Arthur than provide comfort. Frustrated, Merlin clenched his fist and concentrated on relaying a single message…

"Worry like…girl…be fine…prat".

The strain of a few words was too much for Merlin and before he collapsed, he made out Arthur's distinctive chuckle, Gaius's voice, and then, only darkness.

Due to his temporal disorientation, Merlin could not tell if his disturbing dreams lasted for minutes or hours. Sometimes the warlock wondered if his curse was to spend eternity between awareness and slumber. All he knew was insurmountable pain and horrifying dreams plagued with battalions of faceless mutilated men. Bodies of young, emaciated men with the flesh falling from their bones; bandages wrapped around victims wounds far beyond the help of medical science; lesions weeping with the fresh yellow-green pus of infection as well as the black seepage of rot; these were with what his unconscious haunted him.

In spite of all the horror, the voice startled him the most. It was sweet and melodious like the most innocent songbird, but strong as if laced with iron and venom alike. It spoke reassurances and consolations as easily as it made promises and accusations. The voice finally identified those mangled near corpses as images of himself.

"This is not your fate. The coin may be damaged but one half may repair the other. And one half may reconstruct itself…"

"…In order to understand the pain of suffering one must suffer. This is your test. You have neither passed nor failed. Pain makes us strong. It makes us cold or compassionate. You need to choose Emrys…"

"…Remember who you are…both who you've been and who you will be…"

"…Your destiny lies in your own heart. Listen to it and you shall never be lead astray…"

"…Emrys your name signifies what you are and what you will become…"

"…it portends your blessing as well as your curse…"

The cryptic messages passed through his mind nearly without comprehension, except, Merlin _knew_ the voice. The horrific images of broken men and the nonsense spoken could not deny Merlin recognition. Only his fevered delirium and devastating fear could do that. As he continued, pondering on the identity of his hallucinated soothsayer, Merlin did not notice his breath faltering or his limbs shaking. Thus, he felt nothing except relief when an overwhelming sense of numbness surrounded his body believing that Gaius had made a more potent pain reliever. He did not feel his lungs shut down or his brain slowly suffocate from lack of oxygen. Even as the darkness that once encroached on the horizon of his foggy mind began to envelop him, Merlin remained unalarmed. As he went to sleep, the great and powerful Emrys did not feel his own death.

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Review and tell me where the chapter title came from. You'll get a cookie. And no, I'm not above bribery.


	3. Let Your Soul and Spirit Fly

AN: Yeah so, remember how I said my life was hectic before? I lied. We've finally got the new VP, (still working on the CEO) but when words like "fraud" and "embezzlement" begin to apply to former people who shall not be named, life gets worse. We're mainly a community service organization people. Get over yourselves.

I'm moving into/ remodeling a new apartment. We just got insulation. Squeal.

You know the drill, I do not own Merlin, it is property of BBC. I do not own any recognizable song lyrics or characters. I only own this crappy laptop and an original Mighty Morphin' Power Rangers Poster.

The answer to last week's question was Gloria Gaynor's "I will survive".

I know I promised an explanation for Uther's treatment of Merlin and It is coming, but it's giving me more trouble than I originally thought. Blame Arthur, his POV is less informed and more narrow sighted.

To make reading this easier, keep in mind that Italics are descriptions of the dream.

Now for the main attraction:

Chapter 3

"Let your soul and spirit fly"

The _dryw_ shot up. Bedclothes were soaked from perspiration and hair was matted to the seer's brow. There had been so much pain, so much evil. It left so many scars. The grey fog of death haunted the prophet's memories but did not afford any genuine recollections. It was as if the clairvoyant's mind placed a protective shield against whatever malevolent insight the gift offered. If only remembrance were possible.

It had never been like this before. There were always feelings. An idea of what should be, an impression of what should be done, a sense of foreboding, a perception of wonder; these were the outcomes of the birthright. Deemed wise, and the counsel of the youth was much sought after, because the superstitious confused suspicion with precognition. Only the generous king could comprehend that intuition could often be nothing more than fantastical whims, and should be taken with caution. But somehow, these dreams that were almost forgettable were more significant. Their comprehension was necessary for the future of the land. But how was one to perceive a warning if no words are used?

The fog needed to clear. Eyes closed, the _dryw_ pushed at the barrier and continued to move the meta-cognitive mist even in the presence of debilitating pain. Only when it felt as if all hope was lost did the pictures so desperately sought emerge…

_The child of dragons, surrendering to sheep. _

_Y Ddraig Goch__ and YDdraig Pen. Separated. _

No the bond must remain. Retie the golden threads between you.

_The child now a man with no love and no reprieve from anguish. _

Necessary.

_Boy becomes child becomes man becomes bird becomes spirit becomes babe becomes elderly becomes boy, all slathered in the blood of a thousand iniquities _

A future.

_Golden light to be projected. Shade. Dangerous night. _

Destiny is rewritten.

_Flowers in winter. Snowflakes in summer. _

Emrys

_The hag, Cyoeraeth, stepped from the mist with a fretful wail. The fabric of the world shattered at her voice. _

Banshee_._

_Now she was the Morrígan, the beautiful goddess of war, thirsty for blood and revenge of old. _

_Yet there she was a crow __laughing and circling. Circling and plummeting to earth to pluck out the eyes of warrior kings. A delightful morning breakfast for those that gorge themselves on misery._

_The tails of dragons had lashed the back of their master and once again the tower was crumbling, crumbling, crumbling. It should never have been built._

_Darkness and light swirled together with vague bits of lucidity._

_Falling, falling, falling, into nothingness; into the ether. _

_Death. Despair. Desolation._

_Nothingness._

…

…

…

_Pain._

Pain, red hot in the vessel's abdomen as if seared by a fiery hot spear. If only the crow could come now for this anguish. The mighty mercenary turned fortune-teller could not bear any more.

And then it was over, as quick as it began. Blood coated the bed linens in thick syrupy layers. The long-forgotten beauty and tranquility of slumber was disrupted by the ugly pandemonium of death.

She who was the wrathful daughter denied entrance into Avalon; she who became the impatient Anann of the old religion to the foolish peasants of old, she who was the hag, the crow, the goddess, claimed the debt that was owed her.

The dreamer paid the price.

* * *

Any idea who this chapter title came from? Review and you might get a glimspe of APOV (well what I've written on the mobile while in the waiting room of my doctor's office).

Did anyone else think that season 3 shows much more promise in terms of production quality? Anyone?


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